"Ah, bald!"
The sweltering heat pressed down on him, making every inch of his body feel unbearably dry. Yet, no sweat came to relieve the suffocating sensation, as if an invisible weight had settled on his chest.
Lying on the bed, Ethan Hunt's face was twisted in discomfort, his eyes shut tight against the fever that burned within him.
He was sick—burning up.
In his half-conscious state, he felt a pair of old hands brushing against his forehead, methodically patting it with rhythmic taps. The sensation was eerie, yet he was powerless to resist. It was as if his body had betrayed him, trapping his soul inside, rendering him unable to move.
The helplessness reminded him of the early days when he had first arrived in this world—as a baby, weak and incapable. His mind had been mature, yet he had been bound by the limitations of an infant's fragile body. Thinking had been a burden, moving an impossibility, and all he could do was eat, sleep, and exist in a haze.
Now, that same suffocating feeling gripped him again.
With sheer force of will, Ethan struggled against the weight of his fevered body, pushing himself to regain control. His eyelids fluttered, his muscles tensed, and finally—his eyes cracked open.
Through the blurred haze of his vision, he saw something—or someone. A figure loomed over him, dressed in a sharp suit, but what caught his fevered mind was the shine—smooth, bald, and unsettling.
A bald man.
Ethan squinted, trying to focus. The old man's features were indistinct, but the sensation of his hands pressing down, patting him—lingered. Then, as if sensing his awareness, the figure bent lower, its blurry face shifting into a smile—an eerie, knowing smile.
"Ah!" Ethan jerked awake with a start.
"Son, what's wrong?" A gentle voice called out, warm hands gripping his trembling ones.
The bald man was gone.
Instead, standing before him was a woman—tall, graceful, with golden blonde hair cascading past her shoulders.
Despite the faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, her beauty was unmistakable, preserved in the way some women aged with effortless elegance.
"Ms. Emma... it's you," he exhaled, relief washing over him. "Sorry, I... had a nightmare."
"It's alright, child." Ms. Emma smiled kindly, the same warm, reassuring smile she always wore.
As the head of the Howard Welfare Institute, she had a motherly presence, treating every orphan under her care with the same boundless kindness. Even for someone like Ethan, who had been here for years without being adopted, she never withheld affection.
"Ethan, would you like to tell me about your dream?" she asked softly, still holding his hand.
"It's nothing much..." Ethan hesitated, rubbing his temples. "Just... a strange bald guy."
"A bald guy? What kind of bald guy?" Ms. Emma pressed, her curiosity piqued.
"Uh..." He tried to recall, but the details slipped away like mist. "I don't really remember."
"Oh? Is that so?" Ms. Emma's voice took on an odd lilt.
Then, in one sudden, horrifying motion, she reached up and yanked her blonde hair away—revealing a perfectly smooth, bald scalp underneath.
And she smiled. The same eerie smile.
"Ah, bald!" Ethan screamed, shooting upright in bed.
A startled yelp echoed through the room.
He whipped around to find a girl standing by his bedside, wide-eyed. She wore dark blue jeans and a black leather jacket, her long dark brown hair cascading past her shoulders. Though still in her mid-teens, her features hinted at the striking beauty she would grow into.
"Katie? What are you doing here?" Ethan coughed, his mind struggling to shake off the remnants of his feverish nightmare.
"Ms. Emma asked me to check on you and give you these once you woke up," she said, regaining her composure. She handed him a glass of water and a few fever-reducing pills.
"Oh... thanks."
"Don't mention it. We're friends, aren't we?" She waved off his gratitude with a casual shrug before retreating to the desk. With an air of practiced ease, she pulled out a laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard.
"You know," she added absentmindedly, "your room has the best WiFi in the entire orphanage. It's kinda unfair, really."
Ethan: "..."
For a moment, he wondered if Katie had volunteered to look after him out of friendship—or if she was just here to mooch off the internet.
The rhythmic tapping of keys suddenly stopped. Katie turned her head slightly, glancing at him. "Did you have a nightmare?"
"Yeah. A real double-layered horror show," he muttered, still shaken. He coughed, rubbing his forehead.
"You were talking in your sleep," Katie said. "Kept saying something about a 'scary bald head.'"
Ethan groaned. "Let's make a deal—don't bring up bald heads in front of me, and we'll stay friends."
Lately, every night had been the same. Strange, unsettling dreams, and always, always about bald heads. It was starting to feel like a curse.
Maybe some bald ghost was haunting him. If that was the case, he'd need protection.
A cross.
A big one.
Maybe ten pounds of pure silver—
Wait. No. The church's prices were insane. He'd have to settle for the cheap knockoffs at the grocery store.
"You sure you don't need to see a doctor?" Katie asked, eyeing him with concern. "You've been running a fever for days."
"Nah, it's too much hassle," he sighed, shaking his head. "The nearest private clinic takes forever to get an appointment unless it's an emergency. I'd rather just tough it out."
"Y'know I can just hack the clinic's system, right? If you want to go, I can make sure you're at the top of the appointment list," Katie said, her expression unchanging.
Ethan knew full well what Katie was capable of when it came to hacking. Still, after a brief moment of consideration, he shook his head.
"Nah, forget it. It's just a low fever. I haven't even hit 102 degrees. I'll be fine after taking some medicine, and..." Ethan paused, letting out a weary sigh as a bitter smile crept onto his face.
"You know I'll be turning eighteen in just a couple of weeks. If I wasn't sick, I'd already be out of here. The money they give us when we leave the orphanage barely covers anything. I need to save when and where I can. Even with insurance, a simple doctor's visit isn't free."
"Suit yourself." Katie shrugged, turning her attention back to her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard, effectively dismissing him.
The rhythmic clatter of the keys had an almost hypnotic effect. Ethan's eyelids grew heavy as the medicine took hold. Hopefully, by the time he woke up, the fever would be gone.
And—please—no more dreams about bald men. He was really starting to hate bald men.
About ten minutes later, Katie stopped typing and glanced toward Ethan, her brows furrowing. He was tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling feverishly.
"Bald... bald... damn bald head..."
Meanwhile, in the underground levels of what appeared to be an ordinary school in New York, a bald man in a suit sat in a wheelchair, removing a complex helmet from his head.
"Professor, did you locate the awakened child?" a man wearing visor-like glasses asked as he approached with concern.
"Yes and no," the bald man—Professor Charles Xavier—replied, rubbing his temples wearily. Given his mental strength, one use of Cerebro shouldn't have drained him like this. But this child was different.
"He's unique. He can block my telepathic abilities. I can't enter his mind, and even worse, his interference is disrupting my ability to pinpoint his exact location."
"So his mutation is psychic-based?" Scott Summers, a.k.a, Cyclops, questioned.
"No." Xavier shook his head. "I can't say exactly what his ability is, but from my experience, it doesn't seem to be related to anything psychic at all. We need to find him quickly. His mutation hasn't fully awakened, and it's highly unstable."
A deep concern shadowed Xavier's features. "I tried to reach out, to calm his mind, but it had little effect. The only way to help him is to find him and speak to him directly."
Despite his exhaustion, Xavier lifted the Cerebro helmet again.
"Professor, you need to rest. You've been pushing your mind to its limits for days just trying to locate this one child," Scott urged, unable to hold back his worry any longer.
"I don't understand. There are countless mutants in the world. While we strive to help those in need, many live peacefully among humans without our intervention. Why are you so fixated on this particular child? Maybe he doesn't even need our help."
Xavier looked at his student, his expression resolute.
"Scott, whether he needs us or not, we must find him—because, as I said, he's different."
A heavy silence fell between them before Xavier spoke again.
"Through Cerebro, I caught glimpses of his power. While he isn't as formidable as my old friend Magneto right now... his potential, it is something I can't quite comprehend,"
Scott's breath hitched at the implication. "Professor, are you saying—?"
"Yes." Xavier's tone was grave. "There is a high probability that this boy is an Omega-level mutant."
Scott exhaled sharply, processing the weight of the revelation.
Xavier placed the Cerebro helmet back onto his head, his determination unwavering.
"We need to find him before Magneto does."
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Word count: 1557